Easy Silence
by malladay
Summary: Rick and Michonne begin to deal with their loss and grief. Set after episode 7x1.
1. Chapter 1

Michonne watched the minute hand of the alarm clock on her nightstand complete a full revolution to land on the five again. She rubbed her hand over her eyes, sighing as she pulled it down over her face then turned to her right to the vacant spot beside her. It had been one hour since he'd told her he'd be 'up in a few minutes,' but it had been two days since he'd come to bed at all. He opted for the chair downstairs instead because he said it was more comfortable than lying flat. And she didn't question it at first, having witnessed him being dragged across the ground, twisting and turning like a rag doll, with every rock and divot in the ground. She'd also seen the bruises and cuts that marred his strong chest and back, a reminder of a night so horrific that she found herself averting her gaze when just a few days before she would have let her eyes linger, enjoying the glimpse of his beautiful body while coming out of the shower or getting dressed.

Her eyes shifted from the empty spot beside her to the bottle of aspirin and heating pad she had placed on his nightstand the night they returned from that clearing in the woods somewhere between home and the Hilltop. They were unmoved and untouched, the dozens of white pills she could see through the clear bottle at the same level they were the day she'd taken them from the infirmary. She knew what a beating like this felt like because she had been there many times before, and she could almost accept his reasons if not for the fact that he seemed to be avoiding being alone with her all together for two days.

Their home had been quiet, interactions kept to just the bare minimum required when sharing a living space and caring for two children together. And out in the community, it was much the same, their minimal all business talk not seeming out of place in the somber community that was mourning the loss of two of their own. Their grief was all consuming, and the silence was so deafening now that it was all she could hear.

She pushed herself up, and gingerly swung her legs over the edge of the bed, letting them hang for a moment to let the pain subside before she brought it on again by standing. She stiffly moved to stool in the corner of their room to retrieve the jumbled light blue mound of cloth that was her robe, then slipped it over her shoulders then tied it at her waist before heading downstairs. She bit the inside of her lips and held her breath with each step she took, feeling the grinding of bone on bone with every bend of her knee.

When she finally arrived downstairs, she found him sitting in the corner of the dark living room in the armchair that he had turned to face out toward their front window. His legs were straight in front of him, and he had one arm bent with his elbow propped on the arm of the chair, and his head hanging low, resting in his hand. She couldn't see his eyes, but she was certain he wasn't sleeping.

"You still hurting?" she asked in a quiet voice as she stepped in front of him.

She watched him shift uncomfortably in his chair; he was awake and aware of her presence, but didn't bother to lift his head from his hand.

"Yeah."

She folder her arms across her chest, and felt tears began to sting her eyes. He was right there in front of her, but felt a million miles away.

"You haven't touched the medicine I got for you…"

It wasn't an accusation, it was a hopeful shot at finally engaging him. But it was a futile attempt as he just dismissed her offer with a low throaty grunt.

"Rick." Her voice betrayed her, cracking with emotion as she said his name. "Believe me, I understand needing space, but it's been two days…"

She reached up to wipe a tear out of the corner of her right eye as she waited for some kind of response from him. Her mind could fill in the horrific blanks of what happened to him when Negan took him or the blame he was placing on himself for the group's fate that night, but she needed to hear him say it because if they didn't talk, they could never move on. After a few moments of silence, she assumed he still wasn't ready until she saw his hand fall away from his eyes into his lap.

* * *

"...but it's been two days…"

The tremble in her voice caused a pang in his chest; she had called him out in her gentle, heartbreaking way. He didn't want to talk about it, and he didn't want to accept her comfort because he didn't deserve it. Why did the man who walked away from that night with his son and the woman he loved get to move on so easily? Share a bed and the warm embrace of his love? Come home to his happy, healthy baby girl who was blissfully ignorant of what her family had been through, and of how lucky she was to still have them all? He didn't, and he was punishing himself by not letting himself feel any of it. But in that moment, upon hearing her voice, he realized another failure to add to his long list. He had failed to be there for her.

He dropped his hand from his eyes, letting the limp, heavy limb drop into his lap. He then slowly opened his eyes, keeping his chin down as he worked himself up to meeting her gaze. His eyes moved from the hands in his lap to the space just in front of him where she stood. The fabric of her robe began to split at her thighs, leaving an opening right around her knees. Her swollen, bruised, and abraded knees. He clenched his eyes shut at the sight, the visual reminder of the pain she had endured that night from staying on her knees for hours on end. She was strong and tall as he was dragged away, and she still was when he returned. And he had no doubt in his mind that she had remained that way the entire time, in solidarity with him, as if she could transmit her strength to him wherever he was.

And she did, as he summoned images of Carl and her to draw strength and the will to keep fighting against every seemingly impossible obstacle Negan threw his way. And again in that moment upon his return to the group when he allowed himself to glance at her, with the quick look and nod she gave him that said everything without saying anything at all.

 _You okay?_

 _Yeah._

 _I'm okay._

 _I know._

 _How? 'Cause I'm okay, too._

The feel of her fingertips gently coming into contact with his thighs, and the sound of a sharp inhale summoned him out of his thoughts. He opened his eyes to find her bending at the knees, trying to kneel down in front of him in an effort to come to him if he still wasn't able to go to her.

"Michonne," he whispered as he reached out for her arm, stopping her from going any further. "Come here."

He pulled her in closer, placing his other hand around her waist to guide her into his lap. Once seated in his lap, she rested her arms over his shoulders, letting her hands cradle the back of his head. He could feel her eyes on him, and after a deep breath, he was finally able to meet them.

He found himself stuck, not knowing what to say. He wanted to apologize, but he knew she wouldn't accept it. He wanted to know what happened to her when he was gone, but he knew she would say 'nothing.' He wanted to tell her how guilty he felt, but he knew that she could see it on his face and in his actions. So instead, he wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her into his arms, burying his face in her chest as he relaxed into her arms, finding refuge in the easy silence between them. There was nothing else to say with words tonight.

-This drabble was inspired by the song _Easy Silence_ by The Dixie Chicks.

 _Children lose their youth too soon_

 _Watching war made us immune_

 _And I've got all the world to lose_

 _But I just want to hold on to the_

 _The easy silence that you make for me_

 _It's okay when there's nothing more to say to me_

 _And the peaceful quiet you create for me_

 _And the way you keep the world at bay for me_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I appreciated all of the reviews from the last chapter-thank you! I know this is sad, but this is what the show is right now, and in some strange way, it helped to write this because it feels better to imagine them moving on and beginning to heal. This drabble starts where the last one left off.

It felt like they had been there forever; warm, safe, and silent in their embrace. Whether it was for five minutes or forty-five, it would never be long enough to heal their wounded hearts, and Michonne knew this as she lifted her chin from where it rested atop his head, then pulled back and pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead before sliding off of his lap and holding her hand out.

"Come to bed."

He looked at her with his drawn eyes, then down at her open hand. He hesitated for a moment before taking hold of her hand and pushing himself off the chair much to her relief. They walked out of the living room and up the stairs hand in hand and side by side in their easy silence. Not one leading the other up the stairs, but moving in unison as they took those first steps towards returning to normalcy together.

When they reached the foot of their bed, their hands finally broke as Rick went left and Michonne went right. Once he rounded the corner of the bed, he stopped to begin undressing and found his eyes on her as he unbuttoned his jeans. She was moving as slowly as he was it seemed, limping across the small area in front of her side of the bed as she took off her robe and began to turn down the covers. Each painful step she took caused his face to contort with a phantom pain he felt in his bones as if it were his own.

"Michonne," he called out hoarsely. As she turned to face him, he picked up the bottle of aspirin she'd left on his nightstand and held it out toward her. "Did you take any?"

"No."

The second the words left her mouth, she felt like a hypocrite. And the sad grin on his lips showed that he recognized the dark humor and irony in their pathetic situation.

"It's killin' me to see you like that."

His tone and eyes were pleading with her as he walked over and placed the bottle in her hand before continuing on to the bathroom.

"I know how you feel…" she muttered.

She rolled the bottle around in her hand, listening to the pills rattle against each other and the sides of the plastic bottle as she mindlessly read over the label. Rick soon returned, holding out a cup of water for her, but she held up the bottle in her hand in return.

"Two for me, two for you?"

"Guess that's only fair."

He held out his hand so that she could shake out two for him, then threw them in his mouth and washed them down with a sip of water before trading the glass of water for the bottle in her hand so she could do the same, each addressing their pain only in exchange for the other to do so.

They each moved to their respective sides of the bed once again, slowly, but surely easing in for the night. Rick sat at the edge and held her side of the covers up so that she could more easily slip in, then as he began to scoot back into his position, she fussed with his pillows, stacking them so that he wouldn't have to bend his back too much. He gave her an appreciative, but self-conscious grin as he lowered his battered body into their bed for the first time in two nights. She had rolled onto her side to face him, and as soon as he was finally lying down, he turned his head on his pillow to face her and reached his hand across to clasp hers.

As they laid in their room, quietly staring into each other's eyes, sleep was the last thing on their minds. The silence that seemed to suffice earlier no longer did as all of the memories from that night in the clearing made their presence known again.

"What happened while I was gone that night?" Rick finally whispered.

"Nothing."

His head tilted ever so slightly, relaying a hint of skepticism. She knew he wasn't above minimizing things for her sake, so he had to he know that she wasn't either.

"I swear," she insisted. "We just sat and waited for you."

He gave a small nod to say he believed her. And now that he had opened that door, she couldn't help but follow.

"What did he do to you?"

He turned his head, and fixed his eyes to the ceiling, still finding it hard to really talk about that night, though he was going to make himself for both of their sakes.

"We drove a little ways down the road," he started, finding himself having to stop to clear his throat as it clenched up on him. "He took my axe and threw it out of the RV, then threw me out after into a group of walkers. Made me fight my way back."

He continued staring at the ceiling for a few moments afterwards, and she watched his profile intently as he did. He looked so far away, and so pained, like he was right back there, his mind filling in all of the details he was leaving out for her sake. This was all she would get from him tonight and probably ever.

"We will right this," she promised as she clasped his hand tighter in hers causing him to turn his head towards her again.

"We can't."

"Like you said, _not today_ , _not tomorrow_ , but we will."

"Not this time, Michonne," he said gently, hating the fact that she somehow still had fight left in her when he no longer did. "It's over. And maybe that's not a bad thing. Look at the Hilltop. They have shelter and food. People have families, and they're living productive lives despite their deal with Negan. We can have that, too."

 _Productive lives._ Productive for whom? The phrase made her sick to her stomach. Since when had they ever settled before? They had always fought men like Negan in the name of living their _own_ lives, whatever that may be.

"You don't believe that. That's not you," she insisted, trying to appeal to the man she knew.

"I never wanted all of this...responsibility. I just did what I had to do to keep us safe. And now that we've finally found a place to settle down, that's enough for me," he explained as he rubbed his thumb back and forth over the top of her hand, trying to soothe her when he sensed his words didn't. "This is the way."

She felt a burn rising from her stomach up to the middle of her chest, and she could taste the sour bile that accompanied that pain in the back of her throat. She understood that he had to say these things to Negan in that moment to stop the nightmare that was that night, but it made her viscerally ill to hear him say these things to her in the sanctuary of their room. He was not just beaten, but completely broken.

"You really believe it's that simple?" she asked as tears began to sting her eyes. She wasn't arguing or accusing, she was just trying to appeal to the fierce leader and good man that she had aligned herself with two years ago. "With a man like that? We provide for him and we get to live happily ever after?"

He pressed his lips together and shook his head, unmoved by her appeal.

"All I know is the price we'll pay if we don't. I'm not going to risk losing you or Carl or Judith."

The tears that had been welling in her eyes finally began to fall with a heavy bead leaving a trail over her cheek and down her chin before it dropped off and pooled on the fabric of her nightgown over her chest. All at once, her heart was broken seeing him like this, yet filled with rage at the thought of living under the control of a dangerous, vile man for the rest of their lives. Tonight was not the start of healing she'd hoped it would be, at least not for her, as she felt herself falling into a deeper, darker hole than than she could have imagined.

She felt Rick's warm palm cup her cheek, then the rough pad of his thumb sweep under her eye to wipe away the wetness.

"We _will_ be OK," he promised. It was weak and uncertain, but he was trying for her.

She placed her hand over his, then clenched her eyes shut, causing the last of the tears to fall. She took in a deep breath then nodded her head.

"We will," she answered with a jagged breath as she struggled to get the words out.

He moved his hand to her shoulder, and pulled her toward him. She gave into his touch and shifted over to his side, laying her head on his chest. He was there, but he wasn't, at least not in the way she needed him to be.


End file.
